


Fix It

by EbonyKnight, RomanyWalker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Demanding Sherlock, Greg in a posh suit, M/M, Sherstrade Month 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanyWalker/pseuds/RomanyWalker
Summary: The team are working a protection detail, one that has required Greg Lestrade to be dressed to the nines. Sally knows that Greg is an attractive man, but the reaction Sherlock has to seeing him in his finery is something else entirely. Naturally, Sherlock being Sherlock, he demands that Greg fix it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Fix It（翻译）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742928) by [cyrialec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyrialec/pseuds/cyrialec)



> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
> 
> Written after a discussion with RomanyWalker about Death in Paradise. Rupert Graves pops up in the first episode playing a toff, and boy is he good at it. So, naturally, we thought about Greg playing a toff and how Sherlock might react. This was the result. 
> 
> Prompt words from Shersrade Month Day Six used (kind of): Observing, magnetic, and chemistry.
> 
> Co-written and beta'd by RomanyWalker.
> 
> Feedback is loved.

“You doing all right over here?” Lestrade asked as he approached the bar Sally was covering for the night. They were undercover at one of London’s poshest hotels, protecting a handful of senior royals attending a charity ball from a rumoured terrorist attack. The place was positively crawling with spooks, cops, and bodyguards, but Sally was loving every minute of it; it certainly made a change from chasing down murderers and rapists, at any rate.

“All fine, sir. Any sign of dodgy activity anywhere else?”

Lestrade ran a frustrated hand through his hair, causing it to stand up on end. “Not a thing. It’s bloody overkill if you ask me: MI5, the Met, and the usual royal protection detail. If the sodding terrorists _do_ turn up, they’re gonna spot the spooks straight away.”

“Yeah, they’re not exactly doing incognito well, are they?” Sally replied, eyeing one of the younger security service officers who was doing a simply _wonderful_ job of blending in. 

Lestrade grinned. “Noticed, did you?” he asked, fiddling with the cuffs of the designer suit he had been forced into for purposes of blending in with the toffs in attendance. “This suit is driving me mad. What’s wrong with the stuff I normally wear?” 

Sally had always been peripherally aware that her boss was an attractive man, and he was endearingly ignorant of just how many of the women on their floor lusted after him. Dressed up to the nines in his fancy suit, however, he really was something else entirely. She rolled her eyes and turned to the counter that ran the length of the back of the bar, picked up the chopping board and knife, and set about slicing a lemon. “Nothing wrong with it for the office, but you’d stand out like a sore thumb in this crowd. Anyway, posh suits you,” she said, contorting slightly to look at Lestrade over her shoulder.

“Stuck up snobs, the lot of them. You wouldn’t believe the shit the bloke next to me keeps spouting,” Lestrade said, disgusted.

“Speaking of snobs, what’s wrong with your tame psychopath?” Sally asked, turning back to face into the room and pointed with her knife to where Sherlock Holmes was standing in a corner, glowering into the crowd. “Isn’t he meant to be helping spot the terrorists, not skulking in a corner necking glasses of champagne?”

“Well, he’s deducing, isn’t he? It took some serious bargaining to get him here at all, so he’s probably having a good sulk, too.”

Curious despite herself, Sally looked up from her lemon. “Oh?”

Lestrade snorted. “I asked him to help and he told me he’d rather spend a day watching Father Brown, so I went to his brother. I don’t know what Holmes the elder said, but I had a message from Sherlock half an hour later telling me he hates me.”

“I’m sure you’ll live,” Sally replied with laugh. “Is he actually doing anything, though? He’s barely moved in the last ten minutes and he might be one of them, but even the toffs are starting to give him funny looks.”

“Course he’s doing stuff. Observing or deducing or whatever he wants to call it. Probably doesn’t need to be closer than ten feet away to tell their whole life story; if he spots something, we’ll know about it.”

“Right,” Sally said, though she remained unconvinced: Holmes was a show off, absolutely incapable of keeping his insights to himself if he thought he knew something you didn't, and standing in a corner with so many people to rile within such easy reach was just not his style. 

“Are you working, girl, or are you being paid to bother this poor chap?” came a sneering, disdainful voice, and Sally turned to find a man of advanced age with rather unfortunate ears staring at her expectantly from further down the bar. 

“Oh, all my fault, old boy,” Lestrade cut in smoothly, suddenly every inch the over-privileged prat. “I always insist on fresh lemon. Spoils the drink otherwise.”

The newcomer smiled indulgently at Lestrade and moved closer, apparently happier now that he was ostensibly in the company of one of his own kind. “Quite right.” He turned his attention back to Sally, disdain twisting his features. “Bourbon sour, girl, and make it quick,” he said dismissively, and quickly re-focussed his attention on Lestrade, extending his right hand expectantly. “Sir James Rockingham.”

Sally set about preparing the old git’s drink, but kept an eye and ear on the conversation, just in case.

Lestrade took Rockingham’s hand in a firm shake. “Sebastian Milford. The younger, obviously, not dear old dad.”

Rockingham chuckled. “Naturally. Fine man, your father, fine man.”

“I say, there have been some strange people about tonight,” Lestrade said leadingly, wearing his plummy façade effortlessly, and Sally was forcibly reminded that her boss was one of the best on the force. “Not more than ten minutes ago I saw one of the staff being searched, if you can believe it.”

“Really?” Rockingham asked, relishing the apparent scandal. “Nothing of the sort on our side of the room, but you can never tell with these foreigners, can you? They let anyone in these days. My great grandfather was an admiral, you know. He’d be turning in his grave if he could see what had become of the empire.”

Fighting the urge to send Rockingham back to his cronies wearing his damned drink, Sally put the glass down on the bar, and if it was a little more forcefully than strictly necessary, he did not seem to notice. “Your drink, sir,” she said through gritted teeth.

“About time, too. Well, Milford, pleasure meeting you. Do give my regards to your father,” the toff replied, picking up his glass and walking away.

As soon as he had disappeared into the crowd, Lestrade’s posture relaxed like his strings had been cut. “Thick as pig shit, the lot of them. _Fine man, your father,_ ” he said, mimicking Rockingham, then lightly touched his left ear. “Lestrade here. Just spoke with Rockingham. He’s over with the duke’s entourage and he’s not seen anything dodgy. Though, whether he’d recognise it if he did is anyone’s guess.”

“We got it loud and clear, Lestrade,” came the voice of Athelney, one of the younger officers on the assignment, through Sally’s earpiece. “Anderson’s crew have finished with the hotel room we were tipped off about and they’ve found nothing we didn’t already know. Over.”

Lestrade tapped his ear again. “I hate these jobs,” he said frustrated, but before Sally could respond Holmes appeared, cutting through the crowd with a face like thunder. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” 

“You appear to have given me an erection. Fix it,” the younger man demanded, and Sally was sure her heart stopped for a moment. Had it not been for Lestrade’s sudden coughing fit, she would likely have been able to convince herself that she was hearing things. 

“You what?” Lestrade sputtered, face flushed from coughing, and Sally was right there with him.

“Did I stutter? I have an erection and you're the cause of it. You have no business walking around looking like _that_ ,” he said, enunciating clearly, as though he was speaking to a small child. “The neurochemistry of arousal hormones and their effects on the human brain will likely be beyond your comprehension, but suffice it to say that I find myself unable to think, and it's entirely your fault.”

“Sherlock, I don’t think—”

“Must you be so tedious? You have a longstanding attraction to me, so it won't be a hardship for you. A hand job in the toilet will suffice, I should think, and I doubt it will take much. I'll even return the favour; I know how fascinated you are with my mouth.” Holmes moved forward, practically plastering himself to Lestrade’s front as though magnetically drawn, and Sally pinched her thigh, convinced that she must be hallucinating. “Can you feel that, Greg?” the younger man asked, voice low and rough, and Sally saw Lestrade swallow convulsively. “You did that. If you want me to be able to find your terrorist, you will need to _fix it_.” 

“Jesus,” Lestrade said, the roughness of his voice speaking eloquently about how affected he was. “You can’t just…Donovan's right there…Athelney's on comms—”

“Irrelevant. They're not offering to fellate you: I am. The toilet cubicle furthest from the door in two minutes. Don't be late,” he said imperiously, and stalked away, disappearing quickly into the crowd.

Silence reigned for several long moments, until Lestrade cleared his throat awkwardly. “Right, I’ll just go and…” he said, staring the direction Holmes had taken, splashes of colour high on his cheeks despite his deep tan.

Sally snickered and covered her mouth, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically.

Lestrade removed his ear piece and microphone, looking anywhere but at Sally. “Not a word,” he warned, and walked away.

Sally stared after him, hand clamped over her mouth, shaking with silent laughter, until the sound of her earpiece coming to life brought her back to reality. “Did I really just hear that?” Athelney asked, stunned. 

“Yeah, I think you did.”


End file.
